


A Gentleman Caller

by Alucard_and_Friends



Category: Original Work
Genre: Confessions, F/M, Love Confessions, Revenge, Revenge Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 05:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19192990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alucard_and_Friends/pseuds/Alucard_and_Friends
Summary: Revenge is a dish best served cold. ...Or is it? Perhaps heating things up deserves a hand itself. AKA. REVENGE FUCKING





	A Gentleman Caller

"Even now," he hissed in her ear, and she heard him, despite her own panting. "Even now, I can still bring you to climax."  
  
She let out a small moan and fumbled with his wrist, trying weakly to pull his hand away. As he noticed this, the smirk on his lips grew wider; he pressed down harder, knowing she was enjoying it even as she struggled not to.  
  
"Remember when you told me I couldn't use my knife on me anymore?" he asked her, his voice low and falsely smooth. When she didn't answer, he shifted position slightly and dug in harder, causing her to cry out.  
  
"I remember!" she called, her voice hoarse and her hands clenching and unclenching on the sheets under her. “It was for your own good!”  
  
“’For my own good’, my ass,” he growled, his other hand coming down to snake around the opposite leg and hitch it upward. “Really, you just didn’t want to be associated with a stereotype, wasn’t it?” He dug in his nails and she hissed. “Wasn’t it?”  
  
“Alright, alright!” she gave in, knowing it was useless to deny anything at this point. “So I didn’t want to deal with the shit your cutting would’ve given me. Is that so wrong?”  
  
“No, not wrong,” he agreed calmly, knowing the affect that his breath in her ear was giving her; she shuddered. “But you lied. You weren’t honest with me, like I was with you.”  
  
She started at his words then began struggling again, this time harder. But she was no match for him now, and he held her down quite easily.   
  
“You? Honest?” she managed, incredulous, as he started licking hot, wet trails down the side of her neck, behind her ear where she was most sensitive. “You t-told me yourself that you had lied consecutively since the b-beginning of the relationship!”  
  
“Yes, but that was for your own good,” he answered her, distracted by his ministrations. “A white lie, a selfless untruth, a thing not worth your notice at the time.”  
  
“Well,” she forced out as her inhales got sharper, “same in my instance.”  
  
He paused, turning his head to look her in the eye, his expression full of skepticism. She only stared back at him, her own expression implying belief in her own words.   
  
Hope almost escaped its confinements in her chest when his eyes became lighter and the deep furrow in his brow began to loosen. But then, like a flip of the switch, his face darkened again.  
  
“I suppose I wasn’t worth your notice either when you stopped me from defending your and my honor, now was I?” he bit out, his hands leaving their place in her warmth and trailing dark red lines across her skin, rising to her breasts.   
  
She exhaled heavily as the pain followed not soon after, but couldn’t stop the small moan that accompanied it, the return of the pain she’d sought in the bedroom for so long melding with the pleasure and becoming one.  
  
“Yess,” he hissed in sudden excitement, remembering how she had taken to force after his introduction so long ago.  Not one partner had he had since then who had enjoyed the exquisite blending of pain and pleasure as she had. His protégé.   
  
She closed her eyes and stopped fighting him again, dropping her head back on his chest, and struggled to keep from exclaiming over the feel of his fingers brushing the tips of her nipples.   
  
“You mean when I begged you not to pull your knife on the men giving me catcalls?” she finally replied, her voice breathy and insubstantial. “Those didn’t mean anything to me.”  
  
His fingers clamped down on her nipples in a flash of anger, triggering a reaction that called nerves to life down in her deep, dark center. Her eyes shot open and she let loose the half-moan, half-cry she’d been trying to hold in, fingernails ripping through the clenched fabric with the strength of her grip.  
  
“Why?” he interrogated her, growing angrier when she didn’t answer right away. “Did you grow insensitive to male attention after getting it so often?”  
  
“Well, maybe!” she panted, starting to lose focus as his grip became less of a jolt of pleasure and more of a jolt of pain- inducing a whole new world of pleasure in itself. “But you can’t really blame me for that either!”  
  
“You told me you were pure when we met!” he growled, his voice growing louder at each word, his grip harder. “You told me that I was the first one to touch you” –he brushed a thumb over her nipple again and made her whole body tingle- “first one to hold you” –he hitched her up in her lap and inadvertedly let her feel the growing hardness in his pants- “first one to teach you”.  
  
And without waiting for her response, he bent his head, and grabbed hold of her lips, attacking her senses on all sides and leaving her helpless to resist. He kissed her. He kissed to remind her that he had taught her, that she had been his student, and all she had become was his doing. She was his, and no one else’s.  
  
And no matter how she tried to resist, she heard him, loud and clear.  
  
When he broke away in disgust, she was barely hanging on to her sense of reality. Her body had become a mass of pain and pleasure such that it was almost impossible to think beyond it.  
  
“So I was your first,” he breathed, assured once more. His grip tightened. “And to think, you once had control over me, when it should have been the other way round.”  
  
“I had what?” she asked, her remaining functioning mind grasping onto anything to concentrate.  
  
He looked down at her, noticing how she had slid down his lap until she lay further down the bed, writhing in pleasure and awaiting more. His lip curled in contempt; she’d always assumed she had a right to more, even when she didn’t.  
  
“Bitch,” he snapped, “you will never find anyone like me.”  
  
She moaned as his hand slid down to finger her opening, slowly sliding down the sides and using two fingers to split it open. She struggled to move his hands away again, but he used his other hand to curl around her throat, leaning on her windpipe.  
  
She froze in submission, disbelief on her face over the fact that he remembered how sensitive her neck was, how she had begged him for a collar at one point- how she begged it of her partners after.   
  
“You should never have gotten rid of me,” he told her, knowing she thought the same.  
  
“You might still hold me below you,” he shook her by her throat and listened in pleasure as she struggled between a breath and a groan at the same time, “but I still have the power to make you feel things you don’t want to.”  
  
“Why?” she breathed, her voice so faint now that he thought it was her breath whistling through her altered windpipe. “Why do you attack me so?”  
  
“Why?” he mocked her, raising his voice in a bad imitation. Then he blinked and grew angry again. “Because I realized my mistakes and begged for you to understand, to feel my pain, and forgive me, whatever I had to do.”  
  
She started to stir, his hands trying to unclench their death grip from the bedsheets under them. Noticing this, his hand dove into her tunnel and bathed in her wetness, enjoying its warmth and slick feel.   
  
He used his forearm to shove her legs out of the way, lifting her and exposing her most sensitive knob of flesh to the light.  
  
“But did you?” he crooned, stroking the knob in slow, calculated movements that touched her faintly; just enough to make her pay attention without giving her what she wanted so badly.  
  
“No, you didn’t,” he began to move harder, back and forth, sending shudders throughout her body. “You blew out my heart” –he flitted over the knob to accentuate each word while she gasped- “and fed it back to me, piece by fucking piece.”  
  
“It w-wasn’t fun, for me,” she managed, almost forgetting what she was trying to say in the middle of the sentence.  “I cried for days.”  
  
“Over the loss of such a sex partner, I’m sure,” he threw aside her explanation, and in a sudden bout of inspiration, bent over her neck, and started sucking as hard as he could, feeling blood vessels crack beneath his lips.   
  
Yes, he was going to mark her, he decided. To bring her blood up to her skin as he called, to have her very body betray her like she had betrayed him.  
  
She gasped again, her eyes prickling unpleasantly, half in pain and half in memory of how those marks used to be out of more emotion than that.  
  
“No,” she told him, finally halting all her struggling against him and letting him do what he wanted. “No…”   
  
As he surrounded her on all sides, crouched like a giant toad with its twisted prize, she closed her eyes to hide from his intent gaze. “It was because I loved you.”  
  
He froze.


End file.
